


On the Eve of Battle

by LadyNogs



Category: Thor (Movies)
Genre: Because of Reasons, Brief Mention of Violence, Gen, Just a drabble, Norse Myths & Legends, Post-Avengers, Thor 2 trailer
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-05-26
Updated: 2013-05-26
Packaged: 2017-12-13 00:05:40
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 908
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/817624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LadyNogs/pseuds/LadyNogs
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short little snippet brought on by watching the trailer for Thor: The Dark World, in which Sigyn arms her husband for war.</p>
            </blockquote>





	On the Eve of Battle

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Coming Home](https://archiveofourown.org/works/723414) by [FelicityGS](https://archiveofourown.org/users/FelicityGS/pseuds/FelicityGS). 



> This is the result of my massive, unrelenting, completely unabashed girl-crush on FelicityGS. Her Sigyn is far more interesting than mine, and her brain makes me squeal with glee.

“Is it always thus, when men go to war?” Her voice was soft, soft as her hands. The comb in her hands was ivory, warm as blood in her grip, and she drew it through his dark locks with a tenderness he felt he had never earned from her.

“Yes, my lady, it is,” he replied, just as softly. She had helped him dress, quiet and competent and sure, her fingers deft and swift, no matter how intricate the buckles and straps that made up his armor. It felt strange, after so long in a cell, to feel another’s hand against his skin. She had smoothed his tunic, making sure no crease or wrinkle would chafe beneath his breastplate, and he had felt his pulse leap at her touch, no matter how impersonal. She was slight and fair, with skin like fresh cream, hair a river of gold down the center of her back. She knew - she must have known - what he had done. What he was. But she didn’t flinch from him, didn’t treat him as the monster he knew he was.

He had loved her, once. Even though their wedding was a sham, even though she had borne his presence only out of a sense of duty, he had loved her. Now, though...he wasn’t sure he was capable of such sentiment. It had been driven from him, taken, and yet she still remained, quiet and steady in her devotion. She had spoken in his defense, at his trial, though he had surely given her no reason - had spoken of love, of duty, of loyalty.

And now...now, after his punishment, after his bro-Thor, after Thor’s desperate bargain, she dressed and armored him for war, and said nothing of what had gone before. He could see the grief in her, see it written in the lines of her body, the tightness near her eyes, the way she worried her bottom lip when she thought he wasn’t watching. The mirror before him was clear, and he saw her pain reflected in his own eyes. She combed the tangles from his hair, smoothing it back from his brow with her soft, gentle hands, and he caught flashes of what-could-have-been, what-had-been, in other cycles. Those hands, chapped and worn, the joints swollen and blistered from the venom of the snake. Those hands, red with the blood of their son. He shuddered under the not-memory, and she rested her hands on his shoulders.

She knew. All of Asgard knew. He had raved, when his sentence was delivered, the madness of the void spilling over his lips before he could rein in his traitorous tongue. He had spoken of what he had seen, of the shattered remnants of other lives that rattled in his skull, that bubbled up unbidden and uninvited beneath what semblance of his sanity he had left. Most of the Aesir thought it either lies or delusion, some last desperate trick, but not his wife. She had looked at him, and she knew.

“Shall I plait it for you, husband?” she asked, and he shook his head.

“No, lady. I’ve no right to a warrior’s plait.” Her hands tightened on his shoulders. He met her gaze in the mirror, sharp and angry, and then it was gone, smoothed over into wifely submission, and he felt his throat grow tight with something like love. She was fierce, in her devotion, though he’d never earned it, never would earn it. She deserved better than a traitor for a husband, better than the monster that lurked beneath his skin. He swallowed his agony as she reached for the oil, letting himself enjoy the touch of her fingers on his scalp as she smoothed his errant curls into sleek lines, molding his hair to the curve of his skull. When all was in order, smooth and clean and stark, she moved to stand before him, and tugged one lock free from his temple.

Her fingers were swift and sure, and she coaxed the strands into a single, simple plait that fell behind his ear. A bit of leather thong, and it was finished, gleaming with oil.

“You go to fight for a world that has never been yours, my husband. And I must abide, and pretend not to weep, when your brother comes to tell me how you fell in glorious battle. It will be a lie, and for the sake of what will come, I will believe it, and mourn only so long as is seemly.” Her eyes were bright, unshed tears glimmering on her lashes, and what had he done to deserve her tears? It was with shock that he realised she was leaning closer, and then her lips were slanted across his, a kiss of desperation and fear and longing, hot and soft and trembling. Before he could respond, she had pulled back, that mask falling into place again, and he watched her gather her composure like a cloak.

“I know you, husband. I know that no matter what they believe, no matter how they seek to destroy you, you will find your way back to me. And when it is done, I ask only that you seek me out. I would bear witness to your vengeance, my lord, and revel in it.” She looked away again, grey eyes wide and staring. His fingers touched the narrow plait beside his ear.

“My lady, I swear it will be so.”


End file.
